Drabbles in the Mind of a Vampire
by CoopersMcFarley
Summary: A collection of drabbles (mini stories) from the mind of Selene. Rating will go up eventually, because her feeding habits alone aren't even that tame...
1. Sunlight

Sunlight

Sometimes, in the day, when she sleeps (_dies again?_), she remembers the sunlight.  
  
Not much, actually, just a feeling, an emotion of something light (_and warm What is "warmth"?_) playing over her skin, with the breeze that dances blissfully over the hills near her family's (_home?_) house. She is laughing (_what is "laughter" I'm cold so cold where is the warmth?_) as she sees her nieces run around, twin studies in delight. Everything is all right with the world, everyone at peace with each other as they smile and laugh and love (_love what an odd word I've forgotten what it means_).  
  
Now, though, it seems, sunlight does not remember her.


	2. Blood

Blood

She had never really known what blood tasted like. Not the cloned "blood", which was not really blood at all, not to her. It was cold and tasted metallic, the sensation accompanying it similar to something she had remembered from before her death _(birth)_ as "medicine".  
  
Some vampires had still sought out human blood, despite the strict laws against such activities, because they insisted that human blood was a delicacy of most indescribable proportions.  
  
But when she had bitten Michael, stricken from the silver that was so deadly to his lycan form, his blood was still mostly human. It had tasted full of something she couldn't quite describe, at least, not until she had asked Michael what it was.  
  
Life.


	3. Memories

Memories

In the day, sometimes, when she lies in her bed _(deathbed)_ and dreams of the hunt and the chase and the kill, she remembers.  
  
Actually, it would be more true to say, though, _it _remembers, that thing which lurks beyond her eyes and is awakened when she smells blood on the air and feels hunger, a terrible hunger, somewhere in her soul, that is never sated.  
  
Ghostly things, phantoms of blood and pain and loss and agony and victory, haunt her dreams, _its _dreams. She had once thought that they were memories of Viktor's, her sire, and of the night she was killed _(born)_ and of his inability to save her family.  
  
She realizes, now, that it was his ability to have her (_again)_.


	4. Truth

Truth

Before Kraven had told her, in that vital moment when Michael was gasping out his life _(death)_ in the throes of death _(oblivion)_ – from Kraven himself, the divine irony – the reality behind her private massacre, she had known the truth.

But not so much _known_, more like _sensed_. The marks on the necks of her family were slashes, not the deep trauma fatalities that she has become all too accustomed to from the lycans. After Viktor had killed _(birthed)_ her, she had caught a faint smell of her family's killer, just barely eluding her freshly turned senses. She had thought that the stench was lycan, after the news Viktor had told her. But, when Kraven told her unbelieving ears her life's lie, all those years after, she finally realized.

It was her.


	5. Dreams

Dreams

When she sleeps _(dies again),_ hiding from the sunlight that graces the living, she dreams. Half-formed images, really, of hunting something, anything, and chasing it until it yields and she takes its life _(death)_ and gorges herself upon its mortality.

It is then that she wakes from Death's icy embrace to Death's frigid gaze, fangs bared, eyes the cold feral blue of that thing which lurks beyond herself, the thing that lives _(dies)_ for the hunt and the slow death of the quarry. But, every time, she fends off the thing, which brings bloodlust and remembers nothing of the dream.

For what dreams does Death bring?

* * *

_(Behold the first author's note! Anyway, many thanks to Lady K2 and Drewthewolf, for your kind words are much appreciated. I will be posting as soon as I can, and if you feel like reviewing, please do so. Please. Peace out, make love not war, and keep it groovy! -_Coopers McFarley, _signing out)_


	6. Hate

Hate  
  
Hate, she thinks, in the haze between consciousness and sleep _(death and life)_, is not so very different from love.  
  
When she had been turned _(killed)_ by Viktor, she had been obsessed, consumed even, with the urge to hunt and hurt and kill _(bring to life)_ all the Lycans she could find. She had wanted to rip and tear, make them feel pain and agony as she had felt, make them feel **mortal** again, victim to all of the uncertainties that plague the living.  
  
Now, though, she finds herself wishing that Michael stays by her side her with the same ferocity.

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the length of the wait, and the uncoolness of this drabble, but I wanted to update and this is the idea I had wanted to portray.  
  
__In other news, many thanks to Lady K2, pandorasxbox, and AsianScaper for reviewing! Keep it groovy, make love not war, and peace out. -_CoopersMcFarley, signing out.


End file.
